“She is not,” Vaughn replied stoutly.
“Why not?” Pard’s voice whip-cracked. The question stopped the young man in his tracks.
“Fool. She is a weakness of your enemy. Much aggrieved. Ripe for the plucking, but you, blinded by your damn honor, do not deign to pick up this weapon. Must I do all your thinking for you?” Pard returned to his desk, sitting in front of his computer screen. “Get out.”
Vaughn bowed carefully, recognizing the tone. He had overstepped himself. I’ve done it again, he thought drearily, failed in his eyes. He was not thinking of the battle with Rainhell, but of the dozens of times Pard’s face averted from him in response to some shortcoming in him or his work. I will never please him, he mourned internally, unsure of why this should matter. Any human born of a woman could have told him of the trials of a father’s approval, but Vaughn was Engineered, born from an artificial womb, raised in a crèche. He knew the word father, though its meaning eluded him. Such feelings as he had in that direction were centered on Pard, Lord and Master of The Engineered and, in the only sense available to him, his true father.
*****
Arpen entered their small quarters on Deck Three with relief. She was tired. In addition to the usual somatic complaints of a small group of people confined to a starship, the fighter pilots needed treatment for minor radiation exposure. Then there were two men injured by a pipe burst in Engineering. She was also somewhat strained by dealing with the human healers, notably Mourner. The human method of “patch’em and get’em back to work” was distasteful to her. She knew they perceived her as slow and unfocused. She had faced the problem before during her wartime service in the Confederate Space Forces, dominated as it was in her sector by humans. She had forgotten how frustrating it could be.
In the far corner, lit only by a desk light, sat Telisan. Sharla, she knew was on the bridge on duty. It seemed she was not to have her two loves in one place anytime soon. Her bright smile dimmed when it was not returned by her fiancé. Telisan, normally so light and cheerful, looked as grim as death. Her empathic instincts engaged as she sensed waves of pain and upset from her lover. “Dearest, what is wrong?”
Telisan gave the Denlenn equivalent of a sigh. “We near the end of our voyage. Soon we will be engaged in the hunt for Rainhell and the others. A dangerous time is upon us, made worse by divisions among ourselves. Mmok’s orders are to destroy Pard, if possible. Fenaday seeks Rainhell. I know him. He will kill Pard if he can, or if he must, but Rainhell is his priority. Rask, despite Mmok’s orders and against Fenaday’s, will try to find his friend Rigg. We are a command divided again. Just as we were at Enshar.” Telisan sat back, looking directly at her for the first time.
“The human Mmok is the greatest danger,” he said. “His HCRs and other robots have great firepower. We have no hope of besting them, even if we could count on Rask’s company of ASATs. Few of the old privateer crew are with us and they are questionable in reliability, save for a handful.
“I fear a time may come when Mmok will become a threat to Fenaday. They nearly killed each other at least once before. You know he has no love for either Fenaday or Rainhell.”
“I am aware of it,” she said. “It is one of the things I have been trying to break down in him, this poisonous envy and hate.”
“Just so. You have access to Mmok, in your treatment of him. Would it be possible to implant a device, or instruction in his cybernetics, to sever his ties with the robots? Not to harm him, just to disable his ability to control the machines.”
Arpen looked at him stunned then turned coldly furious. “You ask me to sabotage a patient’s body? To take advantage of a trust? You, who call yourself of the line of Selen?”
“It is because I am Selen,” Telisan said, not looking up. “I have no excuse to hold back in my duty to our captain. I failed in this manner once before at Enshar. Never again. Mmok is not our friend and may well be our captain’s worst enemy.”
“You appear to think rather less of my honor than your own. I am a healer of body and soul,” Arpen retorted. “Mmok’s sickness is born as much of betrayal by family and friends as anything physical. I have gained his trust to a small degree, as much as he is capable of. You ask me to destroy my patient, my oath as a healer, my soul.”
“I ask you,” he replied heavily, “to defend the captain and the ship. I thought I could count on your help in this difficult matter.”
“It appears,” she said, “we may both have misjudged the other. Never ask this again. Never mention it to anyone, even Sharla. I will see if I can forgive and forget you asked it of me.” Arpen swept out of the room, before the emotion she felt welling in her could burst forth. The hatch sealed behind her. There was something irrevocable in its sound.
Chapter Nine
Startled by a tapping sound at the window, Leda Jenner snapped off the light and drew her auto-pistol. For a second, she considered waking Rigg then decided against it. Too often in their first few days of hiding out, she’d been the source of false alarms. The wounded ASAT needed his rest. Edging up to the window, she twitched back the curtain. Outside Rainhell clung to the window casement, her skin the night-black of melanin camouflage. Jenner threw open the window.
“Shasti! What’s happened?”
“Help me in,” Shasti said, sounding exhausted. “It’s starting to rain.”
Jenner put the pistol down and reached for Shasti, struggling to get the big Engineered woman inside the window. Her hand came way slick and dark with blood.
“Shasti, you’re hurt.”
“Not badly,” Shasti replied. “A laser hit, assorted cuts and bruises from leaping between buildings and crashing through glass windows.”
“Oh, is that all?” Jenner muttered.
“What’s going on?” Rigg walked into the room blinking sleep from his eyes. Then he saw Rainhell, “Christ!” They helped Shasti to the bathroom and stripped her out of her jacket. As they did, her skin reverted to its normal ivory color, highlighting the blood. For once, even Shasti seemed fatigued, but the real surprise was her wounds. The laser hit looked days old and half healed. As they washed dried blood off her, they found the glass cuts and bruises similarly closed.
“Jesus,” Rigg said. “Anybody else would have bled to death.”
“I wasn’t designed to bleed to death,” Shasti said, her voice dull and slow. “My body heals fast. It takes a lot of energy. I could use something to drink and some food.”
“I’ll finish with the first aid,” Jenner said, applying waterproof dressings. “Fix something in the kitchen.”
“I dunno, me… in a kitchen,” Rigg said dubiously.
“Well, I am going to get her out of the rest of her clothes,” Jenner continued.
“She doesn’t have anything I haven’t seen before,” Rigg said.
Jenner gave him a withering look. “Man, scat.”
Rigg grumbled but left.
Jenner helped Shasti out of her remaining clothes and into a shower. Shasti leaned against the stall and let the warm water beat down on her head simply grateful to still be alive. She was cold to the touch and visibly thinner than she’d been hours ago, as her body drained its reserves for repairs. Times like this, she thought, it might be nice to be fatter, to have more fuel for her accelerated healing. Whoever designed her body with only twelve-percent body fat gave priority to her sexual attractiveness over such practical matters. Eventually, she roused herself to come out of the shower. Jenner greeted her with a heavy robe. Shasti wanted nothing more than to drop into sleep. She felt too tired to eat.
A new scent brought her head up and fixed her attention. Rigg knocked and walked into the bathroom. He held a large mug full of steaming liquid. “I seem to recall that you liked—”
“Yes,” she said, seizing the mug of hot chocolate.
“Sit,” Jenner commanded. They helped her into the small living room.
Shasti lowered herself onto their threadbare taupe couch, carefully cradling the ho
t chocolate. When it was drinkable, she downed a healthy slug. Heat spread through her, and she began to feel alive again. Rigg returned with another cup and some sandwiches. Shasti destroyed the late dinner with silent efficiency. Afterward, she leaned back on the couch, a feeling of well-being stealing through her. Quickly, she sketched the night’s disastrous events.
“Well, since they haven’t crashed through the windows shooting, I guess you weren’t followed,” Rigg said. Leda Jenner missed a breath and looked at the windows.
“No,” Shasti said, “I got away clean. We won’t be able to try for the port any time soon. Denshi will cover the area like a fog now.”
“So we’re trapped again,” Jenner said wearily.
“So it seems,” Shasti shrugged.
“Maybe you made the evening news,” Rigg said. Turning to the video set, he ordered it on and to the twenty-four hour, planet-wide news. “It would be great to use the computer to scan, but Denshi might be looking for such scans. This is just the general broadcast.”
A fine-featured Olympian woman was on the holo-screen. Shasti recognized her as another Engineered. They sat through the weather news till it cycled to the headlines.
“The President’s office has released news of the arrival of the famous starship Sidhe, under command of Robert Xavier Fenaday of New Eire.”
Warmth and the feeling of well-being fled Shasti.
“Tragedy was only barely averted, according to the OSDF Navy authorities, when the Sidhe arrived in the middle of a naval exercise. OSDFN units fired on the vessel before realizing Sidhe was not part of the exercise. Fortunately the weapons were aborted before striking the ship. Captain Fenaday has filed an official complaint with the Confed Embassy here in Marathon. Confederate Ambassador Davis has apologized for Captain Fenaday’s accusations against the Navy and High Denshi officials, including Lord Jalgren Pard, citing stress from the incident. Neo-Reformist leader, Jiri Bremard, has called for hearings in the Senate on the matter...”
“Shasti,” Jenner cried, “he’s here. He’s come for you.”
“Yeah,” Rigg said, a note of rueful admiration in his voice. “He’s done it now.”
“Yes,” Shasti said, “that which I feared the most has occurred. He’s here, in range of Pard and his assassins.”
*****
Ambassador Davis of the Confederation Diplomatic Service looked down his long aristocratic nose at Fenaday and his command team. Davis sat in Sidhe’s small wardroom, flanked by his aide-de-camp, a striking woman, and a marine officer straight off a recruiting poster. Fenaday felt sure the Confederacy considered personal appearance in making assignments to Olympia. It was beginning to really annoy him.
“Captain Fenaday,” Davis said, after the initial pleasantries. “I must be frank. When the captain of the Cheetah handed me the diplomatic pouch with the details of the prior operation, I was horrified. I’m as concerned as anyone by the buildup in Olympia’s armed forces. More so by the fact that we cannot even find all the forces we suspect they have. Still, I cannot see any justification for the actions taken. Assassination is clearly extra-legal. The members of the team are criminals, assuming any still survive.
“Now this…this, equally ill-thought out provocation, you and your vessel here to attempt a rescue—”
“Ambassador,” Fenaday interrupted, “I am not interested in your assessment of the attack on Pard. I don’t care if a piano lands on him tomorrow. I want what you should want, to get the survivors off Olympia. Mr. Mmok’s mission is to destabilize Olympia and bring down Pard, and right now I don’t give a damn about that either. I want those people. Cheetah brought you orders to cooperate with our mission. I assume you know who authored those orders and I will leave it to your imagination as to the career implications of failing to follow them.”
Davis smiled without warmth. “I see you have a liking for plain speech. Well, here is some for you. I will obey the letter of my orders, not one step beyond them. If you are captured, I will of course deny any official sanction for your operations. You were a pirate once...”
“Privateer,” Fenaday snapped.
“A distinction that I doubt will interest the Olympian courts,” Davis said.
“No more than they will be interested in your denials,” Telisan said pleasantly. “You must understand, Mr. Davis, if we are caught, your own position will be untenable.”
Davis looked as if he smelled a dead cat.
Davis’s aide waved a hand. “I’m sure the ambassador wishes for your discreet success,” she said, “but we are uncertain of how to assist. We have brought briefing materials on all the major policy players, much of which you probably know already.
“Geneticist Hagen and Olympia’s Cabinet have used the incident at the system’s edge and your own unwisely broadcast complaint to refuse Sidhe landing rights, citing your disputes with the Navy and Denshi. If they cannot do a complete survey of the Sidhe and handle your ground security, they will not take responsibility for your safety. You dare not allow a customs party to see the cyborg, the reinforced platoon of combat robots, the Intruder and all your other ground weapons.”
“My name,” Mmok said, coldly furious, “is Mmok.”
“Of course,” Davis raised his hands, “she meant nothing.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Mmok sneered.
“In any event,” Davis continued, “you are checked here, in orbit. Olympia does not approve of robots, cyborgs or the alien members of the Confederacy. There is sufferance at least for the latter. I can get some of you downworld. A few. Perhaps Mr. Mmok. Certainly none of his robots. Nor could I get your ASAT force down with their weapons. What you could accomplish with a few people alone and unarmed on Olympia is beyond me. I suggest you leave the on-world search to us and not jeopardize our relations further.”
Mmok fixed his one human eye on Davis. “The Olympians are up to something. They are destabilizing this corner of the Confederacy, not just with their Übermensch philosophy, but by arming to the teeth. We have a pocket separatist empire building here. The sort of thing that takes millions of lives to fix, because no one fixes the problem when it’s small. We are going to fix this one while it is small. Major Vijaythilakan here,” he gestured toward the silent officer, “can supply us with weapons from the embassy armory. As for what we can do, that is our problem.”
There was silence in the room for a few seconds.
“So far,” Davis said finally, “the best I have been able to manage is a dinner reception at1800 hours tomorrow on the Hermes’ Shield space port, orbiting below us. The president, the chief geneticist, their cabinet and the combined military chiefs are quite prepared to meet you there. You’ll have no cause to complain about the honors or dignitaries. You may be able to get on world under closely scrutinized conditions. I’m sorry, captain. I see no hope for your mission.”
“We will see,” Fenaday replied. “The first thing we need is reprovisioning: food, water, fuel, some parts. It was a rugged trip out here, and we may have to run like hell at some point. So I want maximum stores on board. We’ll provide you a ledger. Mr. Mandela pays the freight. Other than that, you get us down, that’s all.”
“If that is all,” Davis stood, “then my staff and I will see you on Hermes’ Shield at the reception tomorrow. We have a tremendous amount of work to do in the meanwhile. Good day, gentlemen.”
Fenaday pressed a button on the table. Rask leaned in, immaculate in the black and dark-green of his dress Air Space Assault Team uniform. “Please escort the ambassador and his people back to their shuttle.” The three Confed representatives followed the Morok out of the room.
Fenaday stood, followed by Telisan and Mmok. He wanted to get back to the bridge. Sharla was running as many sweeps and scans as she could, using the special sensors installed from the Enshar expedition, in the hope of finding some evidence of the team on Olympia’s surface. As they left the conference room, Mmok’s HCRs immediately surrounded them, much to Fenaday’s annoyance. The m
achines were Mmok’s power; he never missed an opportunity to flaunt them. The parade started down the ship’s Broadway, heading toward the bridge.
“Well, here we are,” Fenaday sighed, “orbiting the planet of the perfect people. Even the regular humans from the Confederacy seem to have been picked for their looks. I’ll be hungry for the sight of a homely face before long.”
“Look in the mirror,” Mmok snapped.
Fenaday felt his temper flare in response. “Look who’s talking. Shouldn’t you be off in a field somewhere, scaring crows?”
Mmok snapped around. HCRs whirled, sudden and intent, into fighting stances, Fenaday and Telisan froze, their hands halfway to their sidearms. Mmok was breathing hard, almost shaking with rage, his human eye furious. Crew in the corridor fled into side passages. They faced off, humans and alien, surrounded by the best killing machinery in known space. No one moved.
No, Fenaday thought, not like this, over a stupid damn insult. I can’t afford to die, I just can’t, not now. Shasti needs me.
Mmok broke the spell, turning, angry and clumsy, away from them. The robots slid smoothly back into marching order. Fenaday let out a shaky breath and relaxed his gun arm, conscious of the hammering of his heart, the dryness in his mouth. He looked at Telisan. The Denlenn gave little back, though his mouth was a grim line. Which one of them Telisan was angrier with, was hard to say.
Mmok half turned back and bit off a word, “Sorry.”
Surprised, Fenaday found his voice again; it sounded thin, “Yeah, let’s forget it, bad jokes both ways.”
“If thee are both done,” Telisan said, sounding as angry as Fenaday had ever heard his friend, “there is much work ahead of us.”
“Yeah,” Mmok nodded, looking away, “we’re on company time.”
They continued to the bridge in wary silence.
*****
Hours on the bridge revealed nothing. If Shasti and any of the team were down there, they couldn’t signal the ship. Fenaday and the others studied everything in the briefing materials Davis supplied them with. They accessed the planet’s global communication system only to find all traffic encrypted, something unheard of on a Confederate planet. They found themselves unable to hack into any system. There wasn’t even one consistent encryption; every group seemed to use its own.
Fearful Symmetry (The Robert Fenaday and Shasti Rainhell Chronicle Book 2) Page 12
